


Cold Comfort

by grey_sw (grey)



Category: Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 02:23:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey/pseuds/grey_sw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rinzler visits a wounded Clu.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Comfort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ekala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ekala/gifts).



His Excellency returned from the field leaking golden light, wounded but victorious. Jarvis watched as he strode past, dripping pixels onto the pristine floor.

"Sir, I--"

"Not now, Jarvis." Clu waved his right hand at him; it was missing three fingers, and a vivid wound ran halfway up to his armpit.

"Sir!"

Clu muttered something which sounded a lot like "Leave me alone, man," and then the door to the Throne Room closed behind him.

Behind Clu came the Black Guard, silent as always. Jarvis borrowed the leader's disc and flipped through his memory, watching as a tiny image of his Liberator rose up out of it. Clu stood surrounded by rebels, holding them off as the Guard moved in. He lashed out with his disc, mouth open in a silent roar; one of the rebels struck him before it returned, but he never faltered, never took a single step back. He raised his fist in defiance, even as his other hand tumbled apart.

Then two discs ripped through the image, slicing through the ranks of the enemy. Jarvis glanced up at the low, threatening rumble which filled the room; Rinzler stalked inside, even as his compact form dropped into the image from above.

Jarvis closed the image. There was little point -- he knew how it ended. Instead, he watched as Rinzler paced toward him, rattling like a snake. His helmet snapped from side to side, ready to strike. Even the Guardsmen were quick to get out of his way... but when Jarvis tried to step back into the shadows, Rinzler's hand shot out to capture his shoulder.

"Uh... I..."

That cold black helmet turned, pinning him in place. He stared into it, unable to speak.

"He's in there," he finally managed. Rinzler nodded, and walked on. The door opened for him, and slid shut behind him again.

Jarvis swallowed. He tried to busy himself with his work, but curiosity burned within him. He finally put his datapad down, crept toward the door, and opened it just enough to peek inside.

Beyond was the Liberator, seated on his throne. Liquid gold danced around his wounded hand, the essence of the system given form by the Programmer's iron will. Rinzler was sprawled against him, rumbling like thunder. Clu's left hand lay upon his helmet, fingers stroking idly.

"Don't worry, man," Jarvis heard him say. "It'll heal."

Rinzler bowed his head, curling against his master's body. His lights shone red against Clu's regal gold, like drops of blood in the darkness. His helmet whirred and folded back, but Jarvis could not see his face. Rinzler was a mop of brown hair nestled against Clu's chest; Rinzler was two red-lit fingers, spread wide over bright yellow circuits. Then there was a sound within the room, soft but rough like gravel, and Clu answered it with a sigh.

Jarvis started. Had Rinzler _spoken?_

If so, he couldn't make out the words.


End file.
